By Volante Opinion Editor Heather Fluit
It took me 20 years to learn how to be a mediocre cook. Growing up, I subsisted on a steady diet of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Old Dutch Dill Pickle chips. Even when I played volleyball or basketball, my eating habits resembled more of a garbage disposal than a healthy, balanced human being.
At USD, I was spoon-fed (well, force-fed if you consider the required costs of on-campus meal plans) mass-produced food. I had zero motivation to drag my meager cooking utensils down to the oft-disgusting common kitchen to make a pot of overcooked spaghetti. I could have just walked to the Commons for that.
However, my very first apartment changed my appreciation of cooking — and, not to mention, made me less apt to think that if I cook, I am giving in to “The Man.” My first kitchen was about the size of a small closet and I shared it with three other people. In fact, I think it might actually have been a closet at one point in time. The doorway, which I’m convinced was designed with short people in mind, was even adorned with an unfortunate looking beaded curtain. It was an apartment in Florence, Italy, where I studied for a semester. I had a mildly functional gas burner, a small dented pot, a lukewarm refrigerator and leftover spices and olive oil from the former tenants.
I was mortified. I was convinced I would either starve from my lack of cooking ability, or rather, my lack of ability to order food in Italian. One of the two was going to do me in.
I started slowly, trying to work with the cards I’d been dealt. Spaghetti with tomato sauce was my first attempt at feeding myself. It was sufficient, though an embarrassing substitution for the authentic Italian cuisine down the street.
As the months wore on and I eventually returned home, I changed. I am not yet a “good” cook. No, not even close. Creative and resourceful, maybe. But, good? Not by a long shot.
What had changed was my perception of cooking, of caretaking. The ability to bring together family and friends around a table is not about the food, it’s merely the incentive. The power of cooking and a few plates of food was something that was lost on me until I learned that cooking isn’t about eating. It’s not about sustenance. It’s not about being domestic and subservient for the greater good of one’s family.
Cooking can lead to conversation starters, dinners, laughter and relationships. For many, it’s not about domesticity. It’s about learning to appreciate the draw of a home cooked meal.
I, too, am a feminist who once thought that homemaking was oppressive, even inferior work when compared with careerism. Now, however, I understand how important it is to have a clean, organized, well-cared for home and hot, home-cooked meals. My apartment is rarely squeaky clean and well-organized, and the hot, home-cooked meals are only a few nights a week, but still, it’s important and so I do it because if I don’t, no one else will.
It helps to have a boyfriend who does dishes, floors, and occasionally bathrooms. : )
I’m also a self-taught cook, but luckily I have a creative streak and a head/tongue for good flavor combinations so whatever I throw together is always edible and often quite good. I do work with a LOT of fresh produce, though, so that helps.
I’ve since thought that second wave feminism rightly declared the oppressive nature of forced homemaking, but glorified “men’s work” outside of the home while scorning work in the home. I think third wave feminism will hopefully reclaim household work as important and valuable for both sexes.
@Vintagejenta:
That sounds quite familiar. I’m glad that there are others who share the feeling. Experimenting with cooking is fun in and of itself; cookbooks be damned. I also hope you are right about the ‘third wave’ feminism. That’s how it should have been from the start–glad to see it’s finally starting to arrive.
H. Fluit
If you are still in the experimentation stage, I’d highly recommend Marc Bittman’s “How to Cook Everything” as well as Marcella Hazan’s “Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking.”
I was stubborn about doing a predominant amount of the cooking as well, seeing it as feminist. Then I realized how damn good at it I am, and how damn bad at it my boyfriend is. I always “do it for myself” and throw in a couple extra onions, which he hates, just to send home the point that I am not a kitchen slave.
http://www.thebitchstoppedcooking.com is devoted to the culinary liberation movement and has some great ideas for breaking out of cooking domestication, if that is where you find yourself.